Note From a Lover
by LillyJB
Summary: Hermione waits up late at night for the author of her mysterious loveletter to make an appearance. But waiting gets her thinking, and thinking gets her wondering was this all cruel joke? So sure that Harry Potter had written her the note, Hermione becomes
1. Joke Of a Note, Or Not?

Hermione sat in the Common Room of Gryffindor Tower, waiting for the person that was said to be her secret admirer. I A secret admirer, /i the 17-year-old, 7th year Gryffindor though as she sat on one of her favorite arm chairs, i how cliché! /i But the thought of it made her feel... well, good. Her admirer hadn't used any silly sort of magic to send her the note. She merely found it in her schoolbag, after Potions with the dreaded Slytherins. Whoever sent it to her could not have been merely someone who has watched her from afar. They knew her, or at least knew her enough to know that she was Muggle-born and does sometimes enjoy doing things the "old fashioned way", as some modern wizards would call it. 

As Hermione sat in front of the dying fire, she dared another glance at the clock perched on the wall.

11:45 

i He said he would be here at 11:00! /i she groaned mentally. Why was he doing this to her? Then it struck her: she had no secret admirer. This was all probably a cruel joke from one of the Slytherins! Draco Malfoy, no doubt. How could someone be so cold as to play such a trick on her? Draco Malfoy, of course. Who else could think up the sinister idea to make her stay up for hours, waiting for someone who said her smile was like 'the glow of the morning sun', to quote the note. Draco Malfoy- who else?

She closed her eyes and let a silent tear slide down her face. As her eyes were closed, her mind began to wander. She was sure that the note had been from Harry. She had fancied Harry very much, especially since the previous year at their school, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. She had dropped some hints, which she had thought that Harry picked up. But, apparently, they had gone undetected.

Why would Harry notice her, though? A bookworm who spends most of her days poring over schoolwork and homework. A Muggle-born. There were times when they were young, up to their fourth year, about, when Hermione was the best at magic inside of their little trio. She was the one teaching Harry things, the one telling Harry about his past. Up until their fourth year. But then in their fifth year, she made a mistake. How she regrets asking Harry to start the D.A., to teach everyone, including herself, Defense Against the Dark Arts in the Room of Requirement. That's when Hermione no longer was the only one with magical smarts in their trio. Harry had risen above them all in their fifth year, in so many different occasions. But the most memorable and life-changing one was in the Department of Mysteries in the Ministry of Magic. If Harry had only listened to her when she told him it was a trap, Harry wouldn't still be feeling guilty, and Sirius wouldn't be dead.

i But that's just the way things work out, /i Hermione thought as she wrinkled her nose. She knew that happily-ever-after fairytale endings were another horrible cliché. i _But some people like clichés /i _ she half-argued with herself. She knew that this was one cliché that she wanted. One silly little thing that seemed so obvious and so worn-out. One thing that she wanted desperately to share with Harry Potter, The-Boy-Who-Lived.

But that wasn't going to happen. Because Harry hadn't sent her the secret love note. Nobody had. It was all a nasty joke, and she was the punch line. She was dreading Potions class the next day. Maybe she could send an owl to Fred and George and see if they had any Nosebleed Nougats left. They seemed to be flying off the shelves last time she visited. She opened her eyes to a small, dull, very blurry bit of fire that was still struggling for life in the fireplace. She wiped the tears of frustration from her eyes and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper from her pocket. She read the note over and over again, wishing someone who actually had feelings for her had sent it, and wondering how Draco Malfoy (or any of those thick-headed Slytherins, for that fact) could write something that seemed so full of affection.

She gave a tiny sniffle and then, as anger overwhelmed her, she tore the note up into tiny shreds and thrust them into the fire. Then she rested her head on the back of the armchair and covered her eyes. No tears were coming out, but she was crying on the inside.

"Was I really that late?" asked a voice from behind Hermione. She whipped her head around to see who was spying on her this late at night. Hard to see in the dark it may have been, but there, standing behind her, was the unmistakable figure of Ronald Weasley.


	2. A Writer Revealed

"What are you talking about, Ron?" Hermione asked, willing herself not to realize what was going on in this oh-so-confusing situation.

"Oh, you didn't get the note I gave you? Er... never mind it, then..." he turned and began to walk away, seeming quite flustered, when Hermione stopped him.

"Actually, I did get your note," Hermione said with only a hint of disappointment in her tone. She wasn't disappointed that it was Ron who had sent her the note. She was disappointed that it wasn't Harry.

Not wishing to crush poor Ron's heart by dismissing him or even telling him what she had been thinking, she just smiled after she spoke, as if to prove to him that she really cared that it was him standing in front of her.

_'But I wish it were Harry...'_ Hermione's mind still pestered her with these thoughts. She wasn't about to tell Ron how she really felt. About him, or about Harry. How she really and truly only liked Ron as a friend- but a wonderful one at that. And how she had really and truly liked Harry... on a bit of a different level.

Seeing Hermione smile seemed to give Ron just a touch of more confidence, although that really wasn't saying anything at all. Fiddling with a piece of thread at the hem of his shirt, he began to walk around the chair Hermione was sitting in, and made himself comfortable on the long couch next to her.

After feeling as if Hermione had created on of the most awkward moments in the history of the world, she decided to get up and sit next to her friend. Still feeling extremely awkward in the position that Ron had put her in, she said nothing for a good five minutes. Picking at the material of the skirt she was still wearing from today, more thoughts rushed through her mind:

_'How long has Ron fancied me like this? I can't believe he got up the nerve to send that note to me. I don't want to break his heart, but I don't want to lead him on, either. Maybe I should just tell him how I really feel...'_

But before she could get a chance to speak, Ron decided to break the silence at the worst possible moment.

"I know you like the ways some Muggles go about things. I mean, I saw in a Muggle movie one time..." Ron kept on talking, but Hermione's train of thought had drifted away. 'He watched a Muggle movie? Just to do something for me? How sweet...' Hermione was jerked back into reality by Ron's incessant rambling.

"...and then the guy, Mark, I think his name was, he gave Linda- you remember that girl right? Well anyway, he gave her the note and-" this time, Hermione cut him off.

"I've seen loads of Muggle movies, Ron, and most of them go the same way," Hermione said shortly. Unsure why she answered him in such a snippy manner. She smiled and thanked him for the note.

Hermione was still amazed that someone like Ron Weasly could have thought of such a beautiful piece of literature. But as she read the note that was engraved in her mind, she realized that nobody other than Ron could have written something like that. Overall it seemed elaborate, sure, but if one were to really translate the meaning behind it, only Ron could have thought those sweet thoughts. _'Ron Weasly?'_ she thought to herself again, 'I don't feel this way about him. This is exactly how I feel about Harry. I don't fancy Ron. But yet...' she stared into his blue eyes and felt what she was so sure she had felt for Harry.

"That really was a nice thing to do," she said to him gently as she laid a hand on his arm. She looked at the clock on the wall for what seemed like the umpteenth time that night and realized that it was now after midnight.

"Yeah, it is getting late," Ron said to her, as if reading her mind. They both let out a sigh, then got simultaneously and walked around opposite ends of the couch, Hermione heading to the girl's dormitory, and Ron to the boys. Feeling like their nighttime encounter had lasted far too short, Hermione stopped walking for just a moment and took a minute to stare after Ron.

"Goodnight," she said, rather quietly.  
"Night, Hermione," Ron said glumly and continued his shuffling up the stairs, also so obviously frustrated that he had only spent about fifteen minutes with Hermione.

As Hermione walked up the stairs to the girl's dormitory, even though she was somehow regretting that their meeting was shorter than it was supposed to be, she had enjoyed sitting with Ron in the Gryffindor Common Room. Which seemed like a crazy thing. They had barely spoken a word to each other, aside from Ron's nervous babbling. They had merely sat there for most of the time in a terrible awkward silence. But something about the Gryffindor Tower at night was cozy, warm, and even romantic.

_'Romantic? What are you thinking, Hermione!'_ Her mind screamed at her. _'You think Ron Weasly is romantic? He's just got a silly crush on you is all. Don't think that way. You know you don't fancy Ron, you fancy Harry! Hermione! Hermione are you listening to me?'_

Hermione was ignoring the little voice in her head to stick with her fantasy of being with the world-renowned, great Harry Potter. Hermione Granger now had a new object on which she was to focus her mind on. Ronald Bilius Weasly.


End file.
